


Cocktober 28: Nightmares AKA Wake Me Up

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Kinda, M/M, Nightmares, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Billy gets nightmares.Steve tries out a few different ways to wake him up.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Cocktober 28: Nightmares AKA Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure there's much more to say about this one.  
> There's angst, there's smut.  
> Enjoy!

Over the six months they've been sleeping together, and more specifically the four months they've literally been _sleeping_ together, Steve has learnt a few things about Billy.

He’s learnt that Billy always runs hot. How even in the coldest Midwestern winters, he radiates California sunshine. A personal hot water bottle warming Steve's body almost as much as his heart. Steve loves going to sleep held in Billy’s embrace and surrounded by that warmth, and even when they’re not pressed together, when one of them has rolled over or shuffled away slightly, Steve can still feel Billy’s heat thrumming through him, inescapable. 

He’s learnt that Billy snores. Loud, croaking ones if he falls asleep on his back, and just little puffs of breath if he’s sleeping on his side, lips pushed together in the tiniest of pouts. Billy had been embarrassed when Steve mentioned it, but Steve was quick to reassure him that they’ve become a soundtrack, a rhythm that reminds him he’s not alone, that even when he wakes up in the dead of night, Billy’s snores drown out any thoughts of creeping vines or gaping maws of monsters.

He’s also learnt that Billy gets nightmares.

Horrible ones.

Ones where Billy cries silent tears, teeth clenched together as his throat rasps with screams trying to force their way through. 

Ones where Billy will claw at his chest, nails digging into skin and scar tissue until it breaks and bleeds.

Steve hates the nightmares.

Hates how he can’t help Billy through them.

Hates how he can only make things worse.

The first few times Billy had one, Steve tried to wake him up gently. Tried talking to him, whispers of, “Billy,” and “Baby” and “You’re OK, come on, you’re safe,” repeated over and over until Billy’s eyes flew open, gaze flicking wildly around the room until he managed to focus on Steve. He’d crumpled then, tears spilling out over his cheeks, his arms wrapping around himself as he shivered.

It took a while before Billy was able to talk to Steve, until he could get the words out.

“I thought...I could hear you there, I thought I’d hurt you.”

Later, when he was calmer, when they were both sitting at the dining table with dressing gowns on and strong coffees in hand, Billy explained it better,

"It all gets, I dunno, muddled up there." His fingers twitched up beside his temples, a faint tremor still in his hands, "I hear you and I see you but it all gets twisted into the dream. You’re calling out for me because I’ve- _fuck_ \- got my fingers round your throat or I’m...I’m holding you down and…and it’s worse because it’s _you_..” Billy’s voice cracked and he ducked his head, swiping at his eyes, and Steve reached over the table to grab at his hand, to squeeze his fingers.

“Bill, you don’t have to tell me, it’s OK, I won’t...I won’t do that again. I won’t talk.”

So Steve didn’t. 

The next time Billy had a nightmare, Steve only let a few ‘ _baby_ ’s slip before he remembered and snapped his mouth shut. Instead, he reached over, his gentle touches becoming firmer, quick squeezes along Billy’s arms, down to his hands, a shake of his shoulders, anything to help pull him back from the horrors in his head. 

If anything, it had been worse. The moment Steve’s fingers started to rake through Billy’s hair, Billy’s eyes had shot open and he’d launched himself away, falling off the bed with a thump and landing in a tangle of sweaty sheets, his body curled tightly and his arms coming up as if to protect his head from a blow.

Steve had been beside him in a flash, kneeling down close enough to hear the muffled _“Sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t...I’ll stop_ ,” coming from Billy.

And Steve's heart clenched. He knew exactly where Billy's head was now, knew who he thought he was grovelling to.

Steve kept his hands still, fighting every urge to gather Billy into his arms and rock him, to press kisses into his hair, to soothe him.

Instead Steve just watched. Watched and waited. Waited until Billy slowly came round, as he realised that whatever he was expecting to happen, didn’t. Watched as Billy uncurled, his head coming up, relief flooding his features when he saw Steve there.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, his voice soft, thick with the tears he’d been holding back, “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

He opened his arms slowly, telegraphing every movement, and Billy fell into the space between them, his head resting against Steve’s shoulder as he shook. 

“Probably best just to shout,” Billy said the next morning. The comment coming out of nowhere. He’d been quiet over breakfast, bacon going cold in front of him as he simply stared down, lost in thought. Steve startled a little, sloshing his coffee over the rim of the mug, and looked up from the paper.

“Huh?”

“Next time I’m...y’know. Nightmare,” Billy tapped on the side of his head, “Just shout. Once. Say ‘ _Billy’_ ," Billy barked it out in a stern voice that sent a chill through Steve, "It’ll...it’ll work.”

Steve looked over at him, worry flitting over his features, “I thought you didn’t like me to talk. Thought it made it worse?”

“This is different,” Billy poked at his breakfast with his fork, moving it around the plate but never lifting any of it to his mouth. Steve became aware of how Billy wasn't looking at him, had avoided answering properly, “It'll be quick. It'll work.” Billy’s eyes never left his plate.

It wasn’t long before Steve got to find out, a few nights later and he was woken by Billy thrashing from side to side, whimpers escaping from between tightly clenched teeth. 

And Steve remembered their conversation, remembered what Billy had asked him to do, but he paused, hesitant, unable to bring himself to do it. It just felt wrong. Steve didn't even think he _could_ say Billy's name in that tone; having gotten so used to it tripping off his tongue with the syllables wrapped in affection or dripping with desire.

Instead, he sat up beside Billy, useless and pathetic, unable to touch or reassure or comfort or do any of the things he always wanted to do, _needed_ to do, when Billy got like this.

Billy’s body lurched again, eyes tightly closed and nails scraping red lines down his chest. His breath came out in short, sharp pants- almost wheezing- and Steve knew that he must be terrified, knew that Billy was reliving his worst memories, that his mind has twisted them even more, made them worse, mixing Max and Steve and Billy’s mom in amongst monsters and Neil and hospital wards in horrifying combinations. 

One more whimper, and Steve felt guilty for leaving it this long. 

“Billy!”

He shouted it just as Billy had demonstrated. Short, sharp, stern.

And it worked.

Billy’s eyes flew open, as usual, still full of fear but focused, staring ahead rather than darting around the room. He lay stock still, flat on his back with his arms pressed by his sides, frozen in place for a few moments until he finally moved his head to look at Steve, 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, before turning onto his side, facing away from Steve, and falling back asleep almost instantly.

It took Steve a lot longer before he drifted off again.

In some ways, Steve thought later, it was even worse than the other times.

Because at least when Billy had woken up crying and scared, it had faded after a while and then he’d been able to let Steve in to comfort him, would let himself be held and kissed and loved and then he’d be OK. 

But now Billy was closed off. Distant. 

He’d been quiet all morning, keeping himself still and small on the couch. The TV was on but Billy had turned it down so low that Steve was pretty sure he couldn’t even hear it. He spoke when Steve talked to him, answering questions and making small talk, but it all felt flat. There was none of Billy’s usual wit or innuendo, none of the fire that made Billy so _Billy_. It was like he was faded, a shadow.

It all finally fell apart when they started making lunch. Steve lost his grip on a plate, sending it crashing to the ground, and Billy had flinched hard at the noise, before dropping to his knees immediately and trying to pick up the broken shards with his fingers, only stopping when Steve’s hand reached out to cover his, gently dusting away the sharp fragments and pulling Billy into his chest, another hand coming up to wipe away the tears falling down his face.

“Come on baby, come back to me,” Steve whispered as Billy shuddered against him, “Come on out of that head.”

And it took a while, it took hot soup and warm blankets and the rest of the day spent on the couch, but Billy eventually did. 

And Steve swore he was never waking Billy up like that again. 

He managed to keep his word for a week. A week of nightmares. A week of Steve trying everything he could think of to wake Billy without making things worse- music, lights, wrapping him up in blankets, turning a fan on- and finding nothing that worked. 

Until Steve has an idea. 

It comes to him as he’s gently blowing air on to that sensitive spot on Billy’s neck, the one that makes Billy shiver in the best way, the one that gives him goosebumps and makes him moan out Steve’s name.

And Steve knows it could go wrong, badly wrong, but it’s not like it’s an entirely unprecedented idea. He’s done it before to wake Billy up, on lazy mornings when they both had all day to spend in bed and once, the first time, on Billy’s birthday. He knew Billy enjoyed it.

So Steve hopes it might trigger something in Billy’s mind, some pleasant memory that couldn’t be warped into anything harmful.

Steve’s mind is made up when Billy writhes again, throwing the covers off himself entirely. Steve shuffles down the bed, slipping himself between Billy’s legs. He puts a hand on each thigh, waiting for a moment to see if Billy reacts, if his mind turns the touch into something bad. There’s no reaction, no change, so Steve continues, pushing Billy’s legs apart and bringing his head down, pressing the scruff of his beard into the skin of Billy’s inner thigh, breathing in the musky, sweaty scent that’s so strong there. Steve moves his head up, brushing the tip of his nose against the cotton of Billy’s pyjama shorts, a gentle, teasing sensation, until he feels Billy’s cock stirring. 

Steve pulls back a little and looks up, a smile filling his face as he sees that Billy is calming, the rise and fall of his chest slowing, and his breathing evening out. Steve repeats the motion, a soft brush of his nose right on the tip of Billy’s cock, nuzzling again and again until a dark spot starts to appear on the material. Steve moves to lap at the wetness, saliva soaking the shorts, and he notices just how hard Billy’s growing, notices the little twitches of Billy’s cock as it starts to push against the material. Steve opens his mouth a little more, his tongue swirling now, the taste of salt and cotton a familiar one. 

He’s just reaching his fingers up towards Billy’s waistband, when there’s a hand in his hair, gentle fingers stroking against his ear and down his cheek. Steve looks up through dark lashes to see Billy staring down at him, 

“Whatchya doin’ Stevie?” Billy’s voice comes out a little hoarse, but there’s a smile on his face and his blue eyes are wide. Steve realises, with a tug to his heart, that there’s absolutely no fear in them, instead Billy is gazing into Steve’s eyes with love and a touch of surprise.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Steve pulls back just long enough to reply, and then his mouth is back on Billy’s cock, giving it a strong suck through the material. He pulls away again and licks his lips, “Thought I’d find a better way of waking you up,”

Billy’s smile grows, filling his face, the sunshine back in his expression.

“You found the best way, baby.” 

Steve has to agree.


End file.
